


the love we've made

by wishfulthinkment



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Magical Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 12:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14544585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishfulthinkment/pseuds/wishfulthinkment
Summary: hecate and pippa attempt to navigate motherhood together in snippets and fragments





	the love we've made

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlelamplight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelamplight/gifts).



> a discovery is made, hecate doesn't take it quite so well

By the time she finally transfers into Hecate’s quarters the hour is quite late. She’s sitting at her desk, a thick tome open before her, face illuminated by the firelight. The set of her shoulders is quite rigid, but Pippa doesn’t think too much of it as she discards her cape and hat. She drapes her arms around her neck and kisses her cheek, casting an eye over the book she’s reading.

It’s a particularly old book, a text on fertility and midwifery that she doesn’t quite recognise.

“Not reading for class, I gather.”

“Not for the girls, no.” Hecate’s voice is as tight as her shoulders.

Pippa frowns, wrapping herself around her a little tighter, “What’s wrong, Hiccup?”

“My magic has been going haywire, my emotions out of control, I can’t even step foot in the kitchens without turning green. _Something_ is wrong, Pip and I just-- I ran out of ideas.” She flicks her wrist and the volume closes with a heavy thump. “I don’t even know why I thought this book would help me, quite frankly even the thought, it’s-- I’m being ridiculous.”

Her mind slowly fitting puzzle pieces together, she slowly straightens and gives Hecate’s shoulders a firm squeeze before sitting on the edge of the desk. She studies her face, concerned by the red, puffy eyes, wonders how long she’d been crying before she arrived.

“You’re a lot of things,” she says softly, reaching for her hand, “but ridiculous is not one of them, not ever. Talk to me, love. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Hecate doesn’t look up at her, continuing to stare at the closed book as though it’s wronged her, but her grip on Pippa’s hand is firm. Her lips thin into a tight line and there’s a mix of emotions shifting across her features, a muscle in her jaw working double-time.

“According to the text,” she starts, stops, and gestures vaguely, “some of these signs would indicate some kind of a-- a quickening.” She stumbles over the last word, and clears her throat. “I simply don’t-- I don’t see how.”

Pippa can see her composure beginning to wear thin, can see the reality of the situation beginning to settle in on her. There’s a burgeoning glow of joy beginning to well up in her own chest, but Hecate’s distress is palpable and she squeezes her hand in what she hopes is a comforting way.

“You do recall the long weekend that I spent inside you after conference, right?”

“I-- it’s still impossible.”

“Hiccup…” Pippa pushes her chair backwards and crouches down in front of her, resting the palms of her hands on her knees. “What’s that witch’s intuition of yours telling you?” She ducks her head, trying to make eye contact. “...Are you pregnant with my child?”

The only response Pippa receives is the tear that escapes to drip off the point of her chin, the nod so slight it might well have simply been a tremor.

She stands again, swiftly, and pulls Hecate close, wrapping her arms tightly around her. Hecate buries her face against her stomach, hands gripping the fabric of Pippa’s dress. She can feel the way the shaking in her shoulders builds, and Pippa knows well by now, the way Hecate cries. Silently, great heaving sobs suppressed into shuddering through sheer force of will alone, tears hidden away from the rest of the world.

Pippa combs her fingers through the unruly mane of dark curls, in part to sooth, in part to detangle and occupy her hands while she gathers her own self together. She can’t say that she hasn’t imagined such a thing, a tiny child: half her, half Hiccup. She can’t say that such a thought hasn’t ever caused her to ache with longing.

But she can feel the fear crackling in Hecate’s magic, can feel how everything is being amplified by the additional life-force now inside her. She tries to meet it with her own, to project peace and calm, to sooth the erratic waves rolling off the distraught woman clinging to her skirt.

Hecate takes a deep, shuddering breath and pulls back to wipe her eyes with the heel of her hand, pressing harder than strictly necessary out of frustration.

“I-- I’m sorry.” Her voice is shaky and uneven but her wording is precise, practiced, and Pippa can feel her retreating into herself, ashamed of her emotional display.

Pippa summons a stool, and she sits, knee-to-knee, as close as she can manage, and takes Hecate’s hand between both of her own.

“Love… why are you sorry?” She squeezes her hand tight and leans in, finally -- _finally_ \-- catching her eye. She wills for her heart to show in her face. “Talk to me, please. I’m here.”

Hecate stares back at her a moment, almost frozen in place, her expression so open, so searching, before whatever she sees is too much and she drops her gaze to look at their joined hands. Pippa rubs the pad of her thumb across Hecate’s wrist in encouragement.

“I’m terrified,” she whispers, voice choked. “And-- and I know how much you want-- and I’m so sorry.” Her face crumples, and shakes her head, starting to breathe faster, speak faster. “But I can’t-- I can’t be a mother. I don’t know how. What if-- what if I’m too much like my father? What if I become like-- like her? Or worse-- Pippa, what if they’re like _me_?”

The pained expression on her face strikes Pippa square in the chest, and she takes a steadying breath, feeling her eyes sting with tears she cannot shed just yet. She’s always known Hecate’s self-loathing, but never seen it laid quite so bare and even as her heart aches, it also swells with compassion for the woman she loves.

“Oh, Hiccup…” she gives her hand a squeeze. “You have such a big heart, you care _so_ much, and for what it’s worth, I think you’d make an excellent mother.” She pauses for a second, allowing her words time to register, measuring her next words carefully. “I always wanted to be like you, Hecate. If-- if I had any say in the matter… I would want any child of mine to be just like you, too.” She frees one hand, cupping her cheek, and wet, dark eyes look up at her. These aren’t words she wants to say, but she needs to say them, needs to give her the choice. “But you don’t have to have this baby if you don’t want to.” She leans in, pulling Hecate into her arms, and whispers against her hair. “If it’s all too much, we can put a stop to the whole thing.”

She can feel the tension leach from Hecate’s body, feel the way she relaxes against her shoulder and nuzzles in closer.

Her breathing begins to even out and her magic still feels raw, but soft.

“You’d… really want her to be like me?”

The question hits her hard, hits something deep within in, exposing every hope and idle dream and suddenly she’s blinking back tears. She pulls back and looks her in the eye, trying not to seem overeager, trying to keep herself together.

“More than anything.” She smiles wetly. “But there’s no need for any decisions tonight. It’s late. Let me take you to bed.”


End file.
